CHAPTER 2
Dozens of aircrafts dozed in the hold of the father ship like tiny scorpions in the mother's body before spawning. On the deck of the ship, which was the size of a small city, the elite pilots completed their last preparations, sat in their cockpits and anxiously awaited their orders.
They had waited many long months in anticipation of this moment. Although no real battle would be waged, this ceremonial exercise would determine each of their ranks in the Gnostic hierarchy, headed by their commander, Truth. Their muscles were taut and their breath was quick, their entire bodies poised like a spring in anticipation of takeoff. Everything was conducted in utter silence.
Smoke scanned the instruments with his coal-black eyes. He shook himself and attempted to settle his gaunt frame into the pilot's seat. For the thousandth time, he mentally reviewed the procedure he had planned. The knuckles of his long, delicate and tanned fingers blanched as he grasped the controls. He was Truth's favorite cadet. Everyone would be very surprised if his chief rival Flash would succeed in defeating him.
A split second after the green light lit up on the display before him, Smoke was thrust against the back of the seat with overwhelming force. The acceleration eased after a few seconds as gravity disappeared. He leaned back in his seat and tilted the aircraft to the right to join the other pilots in a formation that advanced in a winding twisting motion, as if following a twisted thread.
Truth's gaze passed several times over each of the displays that projected what each pilot saw. Data detailing the vessel's location, speed, ammunition levels and system functions flitted across the bottom of the screen. He studied the data displayed by Smoke's aircraft with special intensity. With a deep breath, he removed the audio-visual device that had been hanging from his ear, closed his brown eyes and rubbed his hands over his cheeks, eyelids and temples, then back over his cropped graying hair. The ship's father, commander in chief of the Gnostic warriors in Uruk, was about forty five years old, roughly twenty years Smoke's senior. His Semitic origins were apparent: round eyes, hazelnut colored skin, fleshy lips and a bulbous nose. His body was that of a warrior, solid like a case of ammunition, clothed in a tight black plastic suit covered in thin armored plates made of gleaming titanium. He knew that despite the Gnostics' yearning for death, they must not die unless in the service of a Gnostic mission.
In addition to the opportunity to demonstrate their prowess at attacking, defending and evading, each of the pilots participating in the ceremonial exercise reserved the right to die in an accident and his soul would still be included in the pleroma: his would be considered a martyr's death and his soul would forever reside in the pleroma in the company of Gods—he would join the aeons, exactly as if it had been a real battle—from which none of the Gnostics could save him. During the ceremonial Walk Along the Abyss, which was conducted during childhood, the guides abstained from rescuing those children who slipped, rolled or plummeted to their deaths. Truth had already lost many of his pilots and warriors to the pleroma during the course of his position as commander. He too longed for the day when death would come to him, but today, he was not interested in losing even a single soldier.
Truth, commander of the Uruk region, was unanimously chosen by the Gnostic regional heads of Damascus, Istanbul and Jerusalem to prepare his forces for their destined moment of truth: the most important battle in the history of Gnosticism; the battle for the sole sake of which Gnosticism was reestablished. He reconnected the audio-visual device to his ear and returned to monitoring the activity of the aircraft on the control center's display.
Flash was directly in charge of commanding the attack team as well as supervising the defense team commanded by Shadow. Flash's clenched jaws flinched slightly in response to the stress of controlling the pursuing aircraft.
Flash was the complete opposite of Shadow, his young subordinate with black curly hair, thick brows and flat nose atop a thick mustache and dark stubble. Shadow was tall and broad, his stomach threatening to burst out of his too-small shirt as if in defiance of all the physical training the Gnostics had undergone. Although Shadow did not stand out like Flash or Smoke, Truth was extremely fond of him because he was blessed with boundless loyalty and a pleasant temperament.
Flash and Shadow were charged with the task of marking the virtual hits on the ships that played the role of the fleeing enemy. Smoke, the youngest and most promising of all the cadets, commanded the escaping vessels. His quick thinking and coordination prowess dwarfed the other warriors’ skills in comparison. But like most of the other warriors, Smoke's yearning for death was suppressed only by his intense desire to serve the Gnosis under Truth's command. In spite of his strict Gnostic upbringing, he found it difficult to contain his excitement in anticipation of the opportunity to make Truth proud, though he attempted to hide the light tremor in his voice as he spoke over the network.
“Smoke is ready!” he responded to Truth's inquiry.
Truth's hand brushed the blue spots that were tattooed on his face. On their displays, the pilots saw how he dispatched them one by one. “Go!”
Smoke's excitement escalated in response to his speed while maintaining total concentration. He quickly leapt out of the spiral formation, gathered speed in the loop and crossed over again through the Power Structure, almost colliding with Shadow. Smoke maneuvered masterfully and would have never actually hit Shadow, but Shadow, whose dexterity was somewhat clumsy, was startled and almost lost control of his ship. Flash instructed his team to deploy in star formation facing outward on the defensive against Smoke and his team. Smoke's team scattered in all directions with Flash's team close at their heels. Together with a few of his pilots, Flash made off in pursuit of Smoke, who had been left exposed. This was precisely what Smoke had intended. He lured a substantial portion of the attacking forces behind him, leaving the offensive on Shadow, who was left exposed to the rest of Smoke's team.
Smoke's secret was that he had trained himself not to think. During the initial stages of his training, his rivals could still anticipate his simple moves and therefore successfully thwart them. Due to his ability to never plan his next move, however, he succeeded in navigating an escape plan so random and erratic that no one, not even the ambitious Flash, could predict his actions and get within his range.
Despite Smoke's young age, Truth had already been eyeing him as a potential heir to the position of Father of the Ship in Uruk, and even the eventual possibly of the position of commander in chief of the Gnostic forces. In fact, Truth suspected that Smoke may someday be every Gnostic's dream, the "Redeemer”, an emissary of the light-bearing serpent. His eyes were black and bright. His aquiline nose and his long straight black hair was a testament to his ancestry from the Southern Arabian Peninsula. He stood out in his symmetrical beauty and his movements were smooth and exacting.
Smoke's tactics worked well. The forces under his command marked fatal hits on most of Shadow's aircraft. Vessels marked as dead returned to the father ship. Smoke knew that Flash certainly would not back off of him in order to defend Shadow as long as Smoke's tail was within Flash's shooting range. He continued to lead him on, never flying too far out of range. Smoke veered deceptively to the right and then immediately spiraled downward with a quick pivot back to the left. Flash was the only one whose shots came close to Smoke, but even his attempts, like those of the pilots under his command, missed their mark. Despite his unrelenting ambition, which afforded no rest to him and his colleagues, Flash did not stand a chance. Flash was simply not endowed with Smoke's natural instincts. Their rivalry intensified Flash's battle spirit, but even with the advantage of his determined resolve, Smoke still prevailed as the superior warrior of the two.
They were called Truth, Flash, Shadow and Smoke after the names of the aeons, Gnostic mythological deities from the early Christian era. They were war orphans who were adopted and recruited by the New Gnosis. In the crucial initial stages of their assimilation into the Gnosis, all memory of their previous experie
nces were erased, their names were replaced by Gnostic names and they were convinced that they were the successors of the ancient Gnostics.
Smoke was only seven years old when he was picked up by a gang of looting pirates and sold to the Gnostics. The enormous scuffed steel door of the fortified compound closed behind the boy with a clang, reminiscent of the tolling of judgment day bells. He wrung his fingers nervously and repeatedly fondled the cool metal band of the ring he wore around his finger. That worn and scratched strip of brass, which still bore a faint hint of the diamond pattern that had once been engraved upon it, was the only personal item that remained in his possession. He had stolen it one day from the ringleader of the looters who had captured him. He knew that, in their eyes, he was but a mere object from their inventory of merchandise. If so, what difference did it make if one object stole another? He had no special reason for specifically taking this ring. The speed of his fingers did not enable him to take anything large or more important. Deep in his languishing heart, he secretly hoped that the merchant would catch him in the act and kill him.
At the Gnostic compound in Uruk, he was greeted by a dark skinned man with dark eyes, a high forehead and full lips. Grayness had not yet crept into the brown hair of the man who would one day become the commander of the Gnostic forces.
“This is your new home. Your new name is Smoke. This will be your only name from now until eternity,” said the man who seemed like a giant to the young boy. “I am Truth, and we have chosen you to join the Gnosis, to liberate this world from its impure shells.”
The right side of Truth's face and neck was dappled with blue spots. Like all the other Gnostic warriors, he too wore a shirt and pants made from black shiny fabric. He continued to utter words that the boy who was now Smoke did not understand. He only understood one thing: He had been chosen. He was now worth more than the value of the ring. Truth began to march quickly over the red clay soil pavement, his feet kicking up dust clouds that contributing their share to the fulvous haze that hung heavily over the entire compound. The boy trailed after him. He struggled not to cry. Despite the urge to seek refuge in Truth, he was careful not to become attached to this man. The slave merchants did not allow him to cling to them either when he solicited their intimacy.
They stepped between the giant plastic cubes that appeared to be buildings. “You'll stay here with us. We will not hurt you and we will not let you get hurt. We are your squadron.”
Smoke noticed a boy with a buzz cut, slightly older than him, quickly traversing the intersecting path. When the boy noticed them, he froze in place and lowered his eyes. Truth nodded his head and the boy straightened his neck. Truth nodded his head again. The boy unfroze and continued on his way after Truth uttered a few words in an incomprehensible language.
They passed between the identical gray plastic cubes until Truth finally opened one of the doors and went inside. Twenty rolled up mats, woven from the same black plastic fibers as the uniforms, lay on the floor: ten on each side of the room. In the center of the room stood a few children his age. They were busy reinforcing the screws on some strange fixture. It was a column decorated with pipes, cables and switches. When Truth opened the door, they froze with lowered gazes until Truth released them with a double nod of his head.
“This is Smoke,” Truth introduced him. “This is your squadron. You may address me as 'The Squadron Leader'.” Smoke could feel Truth's eyes piercing his insides, like hooks gripping his flesh and freezing it.
“Your squadron comrades will explain everything you need to know about this place.” He thought he caught a faint smile from Truth. Smoke cherished this smile. It compensated for any frigidity he .experienced. Before he turned to exit, Truth's dour countenance returned. The fear, which had never completely left him, gripped Smoke once more. When the door closed behind him, Smoke retreated until his back was flush with the closed door. The other children congregated around him in a semicircle and examined him.
“Are you from here?” asked one chubby boy.
“From here?” he wondered.
“From here, from Earth. Did you come from Dust or perhaps another colony? Where are your parents? Are they dead?” asked a second boy. It was Shadow.
“Yes, I am from Earth. My parents are dead.”
“My parents are also dead,” said the chubby boy.
“All of our parents are dead,” added Shadow.
“Not true!” blurted out one of the smaller boys. “My parents didn't die. My father is on the way over here right now and he's coming to take me to my mother.” The child burst out in tears.
“Not true!” exclaimed the chubby boy irritably.
“Is true!” sobbed the boy.
“Not true, not true! Liar! No one here has a mother or a father and you don't have a mother or a father either.”
An older boy, who up until this point had been silent, opened the door and the small child scurried out, sobbing. “He's not a Gnostic yet. He still cries,” explained Flash, who was the leader of the room by virtue of being the oldest of the group.
“Are you a Gnostic?” the chubby boy asked Smoke.
“Yes,” he replied in voice choked by the weight in his throat. It didn't take him long to understand the front he must put up in order to survive in this place.
“Let's see if you truly are a Gnostic,” said Shadow, removing a sharpened nail from his pocket.
“Leave him alone, he's not a Gnostic yet,” said Flash.
“I am too a Gnostic!” Smoke was garnering courage.
“Gnostic! Gnostic!” chanted the children as they linked hands and surrounded him.
“We'll see,” said Shadow as he placed the nail into Smoke's hand.
“Gnostic! Gnostic! Gnostic!” The boys circled him with increasing speed, gesturing with their hands in a sort of stabbing motion. Only Flash glanced sideways at them indifferently. Smoke understood. Never before had he injured himself on purpose, but he now understood that this was to be his acceptance test. He forcefully drove the nail into his arm until blood spurted out as he shouted at the top of his lungs, “I am Gnostic!”
They grabbed his hands and pulled him into the circle.
“Gnostic! Gnostic!” they repeated as they whirled with him. Pain and elation mingled in his tears.
Despite the initial euphoria of belonging, in the days that followed, Smoke ran away and hid during roll call inside the ditches that he discovered underneath the residential cubes. The ditches stretched along the length and breadth of the compound and were paneled with metal sheets that gleamed faintly in the light that penetrated through the slits. He did not know if he was more afraid of being discovered or of the possibility that they would not even notice his absence. Finally, when he concluded that he had been forgotten, he sank into despair; he had no choice but to disappear. In the end, Truth found him and punished him severely. After his flogging punishment had ended, Truth instructed Smoke to sit in the rigid metal chair in his office, even though his back and behind were slashed and bleeding. Smoke sat up straight and could feel the cool metal through the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt.
“You are forbidden to go back down to the tunnels,” scolded Truth. “They are an impure place, remnants of the old Gnostic compound that was destroyed by the Gods. The next time you go down there, we will seal the door behind you and let the Gods destroy you as well. Understood?”
Smoke stretched even further upright. “Of course, Sir!” he answered, though in his heart he craved to return to the tunnels and call out to the Gods to unleash their wrath upon him. But as time went on and he finally did return to the tunnels in an attempt to enter, he found that the entrance had been sealed.
When he was ten, he went up for the first time to the roof of the fourth floor of the central cube, the plastic cube of the Gnostic Command Center, with the intention of jumping. Truth managed to reach the edge of the abyss and pull him back, but Smoke was already gone. He felt nothing when Truth embraced his thin torso. He was furious t
hat his plunge had been interrupted. When he dropped his shoe down, he said to himself, 'I wish it would fall forever.' Even after he agreed to live, or at least to postpone his death for a while, he continued to sink into oblivion, to lose himself in the void by repeating soothing monotonous motions as if he were a rocking chair. He used to spin on one leg until he was overcome with vertigo and became addicted to the trance of silence.
These were the very symptoms that Truth had sought when he asked the looters about their merchandise. Truth looked for these types of orphans who had tasted nothingness and now hungered for it. Truth's job was to provide these empty-shelled children with an outlet through which they could channel their suicidal impulses: Gnosticism. The children were fascinated by the stories of Gnostic mythology that he recounted to them. He described the pure and perfect world of the heavenly pleroma, where the mighty aeons reigned. He told them about the ancient myth of Ishtar, daughter of the Supreme God of Light, mother of the boy Yaldabaoth. Ishtar forbade Yaldabaoth from creating the world, but he disobeyed his mother and created the earth, heavens and all that lies between them in six days.
Yaldabaoth continued to disobey her words when he secretly breathed the spirit of life into man and created him in his image, fashioning the woman from his rib. Ishtar opposed the creation of man on grounds of man's desires and creativity. Indeed, the Gnostics viewed mankind as something made by a boy for the purpose of annoying his mother—defective. But just as vestiges of holy Ishtar exist within her rebellious son Yaldabaoth, so too the sacred sparks of the supreme cosmos are hidden inside the shells of the universe. The Gnostic's mission was to redeem the sacred spirit that was trapped within the material world. The Gnostics longed to leave this contaminated world, destroy the impurity, extricate the remnants of the Supreme Godliness and return it to its source, the pure spiritual dimension.
Mesopotamia - The Redeemer Page 2